


Take Me Out To The Ball Game

by zjofierose



Series: Full Moon Fic(let)s [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Allison, Alive Erica, Alive Laura Hale, Alive Vernon Boyd, Baseball, Blood, Fourth of July, Happy Ending, M/M, Minor Injuries, Pack Feels, Sports Injury, Stitches, can't we all just get along
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 06:04:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1768228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjofierose/pseuds/zjofierose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all fun and games until someone catches a baseball with their face, Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me Out To The Ball Game

**Author's Note:**

> So, I broke my nose this spring playing softball. (Pro tip- the ball goes in the *glove*.) This ficlet is the result. 
> 
> TW for blood, stitches, an ER, all of the sort of thing you would expect from that sort of injury. It's not especially graphic, but it's not glossed over, either. 
> 
> (Also, this was supposed to be my Full Moon Fic for May. We'll just pretend it got finished in time, shall we?)

Derek's always loved baseball, ever since he was a kid. The crack of the bat, the cheering of the crowd, the high, tight arc the ball makes as it hurtles to the outfield. It was a family thing; his parents had met at a Giants game when they were 19, his father declaring his undying love to the curly-haired girl with her face painted orange. She'd apparently found his drunken devotion adorable, and after trouncing him soundly at the batting cages, agreed to wear his high-school letter jacket, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Before the house burned, they'd had enough people to play a full game. A little short-handed, sure, but you don't really need a shortstop that badly, and two wolves can cover the outfield just fine. Three bases, two outfielders, a catcher, and you're good, really- make the thirteenth person pitcher for the game, and let's play ball. It's not like they really ever bothered keeping score.

Talia'd had a wicked fastball, and his dad could hit clear into the treeline if he got a piece of it, in spite of lacking super-human strength. Laura liked hitting grounders that'd bounce up and hit you in the face when you tried to catch them, and Peter could run like you wouldn't believe. Arthur and Derek were both power hitters like their dad, but cousin Reuben was the best human fielder Derek had seen outside of actual league play. Cora was turning into a terrific first baseman, and Connie, Mary, Aunt Genie, and little Leo were solid all-around.

He hadn't so much as listened to a game for years after the fire, even living in New York, he'd just hole up in the apartment any time the Yankees or the Mets had a win. Stiles and Scott and Isaac played lacrosse, and so Derek had thought he was safe from forced reminiscence, and for a while, he was. Until he was over at the Stilinski house one Sunday in June, helping the sheriff re-shingle a leaking patch of roof. He hadn't noticed the palm-sized radio in the sheriff's pocket until it got pulled out and turned on, a burst of static giving way to “...and he slides in. SAFE! The Giants are up, 6-4, bottom of the 8 th!” John throws up his hands in delight, then cuts his eyes warily to Derek.

“You're not an A's fan, are you, son?”

The image of his mother's horrified face fills his mind's eye, and Derek laughs in surprise, shakes his head. “No, sir. My parents raised me right.”

“Good.” John claps him on the shoulder, turns up the tinny radio. “Stiles'd be pissed if I had to shove you off the roof. Now, pass me that hammer.”

Derek does.

\--

John's the one who starts it, really. The old house has been torn down, and Derek's been cleaning up the property while he and Laura try to decide what to do with it. The field is mowed, and the pump house has running water again; the annuals are blooming around the foundation footprint. Erica and Lydia have joined forces to trample over any traces of maudlin sentimentality and, with Cora's leering approval, have taken to sunbathing in what used to be the front yard. Danny and Scott had apparently made a barrel grill in shop class, and had hauled it over at the girls' insistence one afternoon, firing it up under the clear blue sky.

The pack all comes over for the fourth, swimsuits and sparklers and insane quantities of food in tow, and it's right somehow, the noise and the smells and the eating and the heat. He keeps thinking he hears them; his mother laughing with Melissa, Reuben and Arthur roughhousing with Isaac and Danny and Scott. Chris catches his eye from where he's manning the grill, cooking up burger after burger, and Derek wonders if it's the same for him- the flash of Victoria's hair around every corner, his father's voice on the wind.

They eat themselves into a stupor and lie around moaning in the grass for an hour while the adults put a dent in the six packs. Peter and Chris will never be friends, but Laura and Melissa have become decidedly buddy-buddy, and the sheriff gets along with everyone, generally speaking.

Stiles is just getting to the point of being awake enough to get restless where he's sprawled out next to him, and Derek just doesn't even bother questioning John's sixth sense about his son's energy levels anymore. He's not really watching, but then there's a glove in John's hand, and a “think fast, Stiles!”, and then Stiles is crowing over the ball he's caught and leaping to his feet while his father chuckles and breaks out the rest of the gear.

John twitches an eyebrow at Laura, who looks suspiciously  _verklempt_ , but wipes her hands on her pants and nods, getting to her feet. She grins at the sheriff, not quite flashing her fangs.

“We're gonna beat you so hard, Sheriff.”

John just scoffs and grabs a bat.

\--

They end up splitting the wolves in half; Derek and Cora and Erica and Scott on one team with Danny, Allison, and John rounding them out. Laura, Peter, Isaac, and Boyd go to the other, with Melissa and Chris, and Stiles representing the humans. Kira gets elected umpire, Lydia decides she wants to pitch, and with Danny first up to bat, they're off.

Everyone's out of practice, but it's the most fun Derek's had in ages. One of Laura's grounders nails Scott in the chin, and no one has a hope of tagging Peter when he hits one into the outfield. Boyd accidentally breaks a bat the first time he's up to swing, and sheepishly picks up a metal one instead, tossing Lydia a new ball. Lydia's a devastatingly accurate pitcher, which should surprise no one, and Melissa turns out to be a delightfully efficient shortstop. Allison doesn't have the upper body strength of Erica or Laura to nail the long drives, but she's got perfect aim, hitting the ball so that it bounces around on the ground in the hole between Stiles and Isaac in the outfield. Chris and the Sheriff are more than competent, which makes up for Scott and Danny's general ineptitude. Baseball is clearly not their game.

In the end, it's Cora's hit that does it, a beautiful high drive deep into right field. Stiles is running toward it, face open and glove high, and then there's a crunch that makes all the wolves shudder, and Stiles is sitting down hard on the grass, blood gushing between the fingers he has clasped to his face.

“Well, thit.” Derek hears him say. “I'm bleeding.”

Derek makes it to him just after Isaac does, falling to his knees in front of Stiles where he's got his eyes squinched shut and is bleeding copiously down his shirtfront. Isaac clearly wants to be comforting, but is also turning green at the sight, so Derek puts a hand on his shoulder and turns him gently away.

“Go get some ice.” Isaac nods in obvious relief, and runs for the coolers.

“Stiles?”

“Yesh?” Stiles squints open an eye.

“Can you take your hand down for a second?”

Stiles looks at him dubiously, but obeys. There's a freely bleeding cut across the bridge of his nose, and based on the amount of blood still pouring down his chin and shirt, it's definitely broken, but it looks clean and straight, so Derek smiles reassuringly. “You're gonna be ok.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Duh. It'th jutht my noth. I'm fine.”

Isaac reappears beside him, pushing an ice-pack against his elbow just as Melissa arrives to take Stiles' chin in her hand, turning his face into the fading sun.

“Supposed to catch it with your glove, not your face, kid.”

“Har har.” Stiles seems surprisingly calm for how much he's bleeding, but what does Derek know about human pain tolerance. Maybe he's in shock. “Am I gonna live?”

Melissa laughs, which makes the sheriff's face relax where it's appeared over Stiles' shoulder.

“Yeah, you'll be fine. You didn't look like you blacked out at all...”

“Nope, thaw every moment of it.”

“Good, so, you shouldn't have a concussion.” She makes a sad face at him, wiping some of the blood off the bridge of his nose with the edge of her sleeve. “But I think you need a couple stitches.”

Stiles makes a face, then clearly instantly regrets it as the expression pulls at his nose. “Thitches? I hate thitches.”

Melissa pats his hand as he starts to struggle to his feet, raising the ice pack Isaac handed him to his face. “I know, kid. But you've got a pretty good cut there, and you should get it looked at anyway, make sure everything's set right. It looks pretty straight to me, but it'd be better to get it checked under real light.”

Stiles tips his head to one side, then the other, as Laura pours some water over him, rinsing away the worst of the blood as he holds the dish-toweled ice pack to his face.

“I'll take him.”

The sheriff and Melissa exchange a glance, then nod. John leans down to look Stiles in the eye.

“You want me to come?”

“Nah.” Stiles smiles a hideous blood-smeared grin at his father. “Derek can take me. You guys should stay here and do the sparklers, go for a swim. We'll be back for ice cream.”

“You're sure, hon?” Laura's got a hand on Stiles' arm, which probably accounts for a little of the loopiness in his eyes. Derek's always been told having a wolf take your pain results in a little bit of a euphoric feeling.

Stiles nods carefully, rising to a crouch, then steadying himself against his father as he gets upright. “Yeah, it'th fine.” He transfers his balance from John to Derek, winding his free hand into Derek's shirt. “C'mon, thourwolf. You have to hold my hand while they thitch me up.” He shudders, but starts walking toward the Camaro, dragging Derek along behind him, moving slowly but without hesitation.

\--

The drive to the hospital takes less than 15 minutes, even with Derek being careful to avoid the potholes. It's mostly empty when they arrive, still late in the afternoon, and the nurse takes one look at them before holding out her hand for Stile's insurance card and ID.

“Brother or boyfriend?” She flicks her eyes at Derek, pulling up a visitor sticker.

“Uhmm...”

“Boyfriend, alright then. Here, put this on your shirt.” She hands it over, and Derek takes it wordlessly, peeling off the back and palming it over his heart. She hands Stiles his paperwork and gestures them over to a chair to wait for the doctor.

They get called back relatively quickly, shuffled into an exam corner with the curtain pulled. The doctor is young, business-like. She reminds Derek of Kira, the way Kira will be in another 10 years, cheerful but brisk, energy honed to a precise carefulness. She pulls the ice pack away, winces sympathetically, and prods gently at Stiles' face.

“Baseball?”

“Yeth.”

She laughs, hands him a box of tissues. “Go ahead and blow it out, if you can. I need to look at the inside.” Stiles blows. “Yeah, both of my brothers did this. Yours looks nice and clean though, we'll just get you stitched up and on your way.” She smiles, and pats Derek's hand. He's not sure why.

“Ok, kiddo, go ahead and lie down. I'm just going to numb you up, and then we'll let you sit for a minute so it all kicks in before we do anything else.”

Derek takes Stiles' hand in his, pulling a wet wipe from a nearby container to rub the blood from his palm and fingers. He can tell the touch is distracting Stiles from the needle pushing numbing solution into his face, so he cleans each finger carefully, making sure to get around the nail bed. The doctor finishes before he does, and bustles out past the curtain, pulling it behind her.

He clears his throat.

“You doing okay up there?”

Stiles blinks tiredly back at him. His nose is still slowly dripping, and he's got blood smeared around his left ear.

“Yeah, it'th actually not too bad? I mean” he looks contemplative “it'th not _comfortable_ , but mostly it just throbth, it'th not like a tharp pain like you'd think.” He grins, careful not to move his upper lip, and gives Derek a thumbs up, then frowns suddenly. “I really do hate thitches, though. I wathn't kidding about holding my hand.”

Derek nods, pulls another wet wipe, and starts on the blood that's crusted down Stiles' forearm.

“When my cousin Reuben was about eight, he was playing with Cora, and fell off the deck railing.” Derek shudders, remembering, and Stiles looks like he wants to laugh, but is resisting moving his face. “He hit the side of the stairs with his arm. Didn't break it, but needed about ten stitches.” Derek shudders again while Stiles flails weakly in horror. “You have never seen big bad wolves so completely grossed out. Laura _fainted_.” He snorts, then grips Stiles' arm to take the pain as Stiles laughs and laughs.

He chances a look up as Stiles settles down, their eyes catching and holding as Derek belatedly realizes that his thumb is stroking circles into the soft inner crook of Stiles' elbow, without even the wet wipe as excuse.

The curtain swings back and Derek startles, dropping the wet wipe and banging his knee on the counter next to him. His face is flaming, and he can hear Stiles snickering under his breath as he retrieves the wipe and puts it in the trash.

“Alright!” The doctor beams at both of them. “Let's get you wrapped up and on your way, ok?” She drops a blue paper unceremoniously over Stiles' face, a diamond cut out in the middle showing his battered nose. She's already prodding at the skin with the point of her needle. “Does this feel sharp?”

“No.” Stiles' hand is loose in the air, reaching out.

“How about here? You should feel pressure, but not the sharpness.”

Derek catches it in his own, stepping instinctively closer to the gurney so that Stiles' shoulder bumps up against his hip.

“No. Jutht do it, ok?”

The doctor glances at him and smiles as she threads her needle. Derek's stomach gives an uncomfortable lurch, and he turns his attention to Stiles' shoes. They're miraculously blood-free; he must've sat down before he started bleeding in earnest, Derek thinks. They're brown with white laces and soles, no obvious logo that Derek can see. They're not new, but they've still got a good bit of wear left in them.

“Ugh. Am I done?”

“Nope! You're doing great. That was one side, now we have to do the other.”

“ _Ugh_.” Stiles' fingers tighten on his own, and Derek considers Stiles' shoes as individuals, rather than a pair. The left one is more scuffed on the inside of the heel, the sole wearing thin and beginning to pull away from the upper cloth. The toe of the right shoe is marked and dented. Stiles' kicking foot, he thinks, and rubs reassuringly over the knuckles in his grip.

“There we go! All done!”

The doctor beams at them both, and dips a cotton ball into solution as she pulls the paper away from Stiles' face. He blinks up at the light, his nose now bisected by two little black pairs of stitches. She dabs briskly at her handiwork, then uses a cotton swab to smear ointment across the wounds.

“Ok, I've sent a prescription down to the check-out pharmacy for you to pick up on your way out. You'll want to keep the stitches clean, and put some antibiotic ointment on them after every time you wash. It'll help the scars heal up cleanly.” She clatters away on the keyboard of the standing monitor at the end of the bed. “Come back in a week, and we'll take them out! Have a good evening” she shakes Derek's hand, and wags a finger at Stiles “and no more baseball for a few weeks!” She grins at them both, shakes her head absently, and then is off down the hall, tennis shoes squeaking on the linoleum.

Stiles is already swinging his legs down, standing up swiftly and grabbing at Derek's bicep to steady himself. The arm Derek slips around his waist is just to make sure that he stays upright; he's been injured, after all. He lost a lot of blood, he's probably light-headed.

–

They stop by the pharmacy to pick up the Hydrocodone. Derek knows Stiles won't take it for this, he hates feeling fuzzy-headed. But he may need it down the road for something less above-board than a baseball to the face, so Derek hands them Stiles' insurance card, then some cash, takes the small orange bottle in exchange, and they're on their way.

The sun has been down for about twenty minutes by the time they make it back to the field, Melissa and John walking over to the car as Derek puts it in park and cuts the engine. They help Stiles out, clucking over his bandage and asking about the aftercare, so Derek makes his way over to the empty blanket at the edge of the group where Laura has spread out some space for him. The first firework bursts overhead as he steps onto the worn flannel, a screaming comet that explodes into a puff of red and dissolves into falling golden glitter. Another goes screaming up, then a third, and he leans back on his hands, legs spread wide for balance.

He's not expecting the shadow that appears in front of him, silhouetted against a chandelier of falling blue stars. Stiles just crosses his arms and huffs congestedly down at him before gingerly crawling down onto the blanket and parking himself between Derek's splayed knees. His shoulder blades are bony as he rubs them back into Derek's chest, pressing himself firmly from tailbone to neck against Derek's front.

Derek wraps an arm around Stiles' chest, and he settles, head dropping back to Derek's shoulder.

The fireworks are really spectacular this year, he thinks. Best he's seen yet.

 

 


End file.
